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<title>it's never getting any better than this by karnsteins</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687001">it's never getting any better than this</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins'>karnsteins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Outsiders - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, College Years for Ponyboy, M/M, Scars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:47:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the scars live on their bodies in different ways, like everything else. a rumination on two bodies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's never getting any better than this</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the scars live on their bodies in different ways, like everything else. </p><p>most people don't know about the burns ponyboy bears on his shoulders, hidden by shirts for the most part. the jacket that dallas had given him all those years ago had done a pretty good job covering him from the worst, yet the flames had licked at him anyway, still had left their mark on his body. it resembled more of a hand print than anything, fingers pressed against the very top, almost creeping over, disguising the very back of it that went down his shoulder blade. if no one knew any better, it could just be a strange scar, almost like a sun burn. </p><p>sometimes he doesn't think about it much. sometimes, he finds that the skin itches uncontrollably for a few minutes at once, and sometimes, it feels as if the skin feels too thinly stretched on his body when he rolls his shoulder or reaches for something. he tries not to complain about it much, and most times it's not something <i>to</i> complain about. </p><p>it's the biggest one on his body besides little lingering pockets where hair won't grow anymore on his legs from when the flames had eaten away at his jeans, trying over and over again to get to the kids. those are all easier to forget too, generally too miniscule to keep up with. </p><p>then, though, there are times that he wakes up from nightmares of it, smelling ash and smoke so vividly that it has to be real. times where it's like he's on fire again, hollering in the bed, thrashing, needing to suck in good, clean air, trying to force it into his lungs at any cost, needing cool water down his throat, and when it's over, he finds himself being dragged back to dallas, trying to get himself re-oriented, trying to remember he's not eternally trapped in that church, searching for an exit that isn't there. </p><p>when dallas comes home from arson jobs, it's the hardest. the kerosene, the flames still stick to him somehow, and it's always hard. on certain days, he can't take cigarettes or the smell of burning food -- and even bologna, to this day, he couldn't stand it. </p><p>dallas' scars are different. his body is riddled with them from knife wounds he got as a child up to broken bones to some that ponyboy didn't know the full story for, only little sentences dallas had given him over the years. stories that might be exciting but not that worth telling to dallas, to say nothing of the bullet wounds he's collected ever since they came to oklahoma city. </p><p>the scar on his arm, however, was the most important one. it had been the arm that he had used to pat out the fire on ponyboy's back, the blow that was so hard that ponyboy had crumpled beneath it, so hard that dallas had thought he had <i>killed</i> ponyboy. he'd never asked how bad the flames were on him, and he didn't have to from the mottled scar on dallas' forearm from it. it almost reminded ponyboy of a gnarled tree in shape, with the keloid, red skin raised up almost ferociously in comparison to the burns on him. </p><p>dallas covers it up sometimes; mostly when he was out, trying not to get caught. nothing to identify him easily to others, nothing that people could pick out that could be told to the cops easily. ponyboy had bought him the brace he'd worn, had gotten a really big grin out of dallas for that one. it was better than long sleeves or bandages: it was nice, good leather that ponyboy had spent his money on, and when it had fit, dallas' grin was so sharp that ponyboy almost didn't need the kiss that came with it. dallas always loves that, moments when ponyboy clearly doesn't mind what he does, tries to help him.</p><p>around him though, at home, it was different. it was rarely worn, and sometimes in the night or the middle of the day, ponyboy found his fingers touching the scar, running his finger over the raised skin. the first time he'd ever touched it, it had been shortly after they had mated, in the morning light. it had still been really fresh then, after the rumble, and dallas had been asleep, the scar still so vivid, so angry. in his twenties now, almost ten years on, he did it when dallas was awake, looking at him from the other side of the bed, or sometimes when he had dallas' cock inside of him, half awake, his fingers would find the pattern instinctively, tracing it. sometimes, he simply needs to touch it in the middle of the night when a dream was so vivid that he thinks that the fire was still around him. </p><p>sometimes he wonders if they even need wedding rings or vows to signify what they mean to each other when they have such scars, such vivid bonds on their own skin that are so much more than such a material thing. </p><p>he never says so, however. that's a thought he likes to keep to himself, and merely contents himself with tracing over the scar, kissing it, thinking about it whenever he can.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks so much for reading! please, comment, kudos, etc. i'm on tumblr @ madeleinepryor. if this appeared twice in your notifs: sorry, made a mistake and had to repost. 🙇🏾</p></blockquote></div></div>
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